Supreme Beings of Azeroth

The prison complex loomed with an air of oppressive menace, its unevenly chiseled walls appearing to weep with moisture that stunk of sulfur. The dim, flickering torchlight barely lit the cavernous corridors, creating long, dancing shadows of possible guards and traps. Robyn constantly assessed the situation, his sharp eyes darting to the patrol ahead. Each patrol consisted of two to three dark iron guards, their heavily armored boots thudding against the stone floor. Beside them stalked a pair of bloodhounds, grotesque creatures as big as regular guard dogs, their fur slick fiery red with bright yellow manes covering their heads and necks. This meant sneaking in was impossible as they would be sniffed out and ambushed.

Robyn felt the weight of leadership pressing harder than ever. He could almost hear the internal clock ticking down with every passing second, ticking down to their deaths. The group couldn't afford a prolonged wait, it would drain Anny's limited mana. Settling for a long wait would mean Anny would have to keep the camouflage up while gulping down all the mana potion and consuming all the mana gems they had, likely getting light arcane poisoning since she wasn't good at dealing with prolonged magical exposure or overloading her mana pool. Even Nisle was cautious regarding rapid mana regeneration and had a century's worth of experience as an arcanist.

That left the other option. Go in hard and get in fast.

"Listen up," Robyn gathered their attention, his voice slicing through the tension. "We can't sneak around this one so we're taking the left route and tearing up as many cells as we can before we are discovered and reinforcements are sent. Leave no one alive and kill dwarves first. Ethil, you're up."

The elf nodded, her expression as cool and precise as the arrow she had already nocked to her bow. She motioned for the group to move in silence, relying on subtle hand signals only they knew.

The group moved like shadows, the rough unpolished stone of the floor threatening to betray them, its uneven surface demanding a dancer's balance to avoid dislodging loose rocks. A single clatter could be the end. The unsteady floor of the prison complex was chiseled directly in the mountain without any stone plating or decorations, the only clear manufactured parts being the heavy steel doors, likely by exhausted slave hands.

The approaching patrol was close now. Two dark iron dwarves, a gunner and a shieldbearer, walking in a casual but alert formation with two bloodhounds. Their gravelly voices echoed faintly as they discussed the mobilization of the entire army.

"Flanks are too exposed in the south tunnels," the gunner muttered.

The shieldbearer grunted. "Doesn't matter. Reinforcements are coming from Blackrock Foundry soon enough. Let those green-skins try anything-"

Ethil's silent hand signal froze the group in place. She motioned toward the gunner first, then the hounds. Her whispers were barely audible, "Anny, take the shieldbearer. Nisle, freeze the dogs. Robyn, prepare to charge and bring all the attention to yourself should anything go wrong."

Ethil's bowstring hummed as she loosened her arrow, impaling the gunner right in the eye, the force of the impact snapping his head back. He crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap, the hole in his helmet's visor oozing blood like lava from a mountain fissure. Anny's aim was nearly as precise, but her arrow glanced off the chainmail covering the shieldbearer's chest. The dwarf staggered but remained standing, his beady eyes narrowing, as he began screaming at the top of his lungs, "Intruders!"

The bloodhounds snarled, their glowing eyes flaring with sudden feral alertness. Nisle's hands moved in intricate patterns, weaving a spell with frantic finesse. A wave of frost surged forward, creeping across the ground like a living thing. It reached the hounds' fiery paws, freezing them in place. The creatures howled, their cries animalistic and feral.

"Good enough," Ethil muttered, already nocking another arrow and taking aim.

The shieldbearer roared and charged, his axe glinting ominously in the dim light. Robyn stepped forward to intercept, his sword meeting the axe in a clash that sent sparks flying from the sheer impact.

"Little help here!" Robyn grunted as the dwarf's strength pushed him back a step.

Annie didn't hesitate. "On it!" She drew her bow again, her eyes narrowing in concentration. This time, her arrow struck true, embedding itself in the dwarf's exposed thigh. He howled in pain, his stance faltering just enough for Robyn to drive his sword through the gap in the shieldbearer's armor, slicing into his neck.

The dwarf collapsed, and Robyn turned to see Ethil finish off the frozen bloodhounds with a pair of perfectly placed arrows. The creatures fell silent, their glowing eyes dimming like embers snuffed out by water, never to light again.

Nisle surveyed the scene, his small form somehow exuding authority. "Well, that was efficient," he quipped. "I'd say we're off to a fantastic start, assuming reinforcements don't show up in the next thirty seconds."

Robyn wiped his sword on the shieldbearer's tunic, his breathing heavy but controlled. His voice cut through, "Change of plan. Break down those doors, arm prisoners, don't bother with stealth, and hopefully, we find the right guys before we need to retreat. Estimate?"

Nisle, mid-spell, glanced at him with a wry smile, "Ten minutes tops assuming they don't have enough guards to immediately stop us."

Robyn's shield slammed into the nearest door, the force reverberating through the metal and his arm alike. The lock crumpled under the impact, and the door swung open with a groan. He didn't expect what came next.

Standing in the doorway was an orc. A giant of a creature, easily towering over him by more than a head. His wild, graying mane framed a face marred by cuts and bruises and shadowed by exhaustion. His beady eyes stared through his wild graying hair. His massive frame barely fit within the confines of the cell, and his shredded pants did little to preserve his decency, though modesty seemed the least of his concerns.

For a split second, Robyn hesitated. His instincts screamed danger. This was an orc, the same kind of monster that had ravaged his homeland, destroyed his family, and left him clinging to his mother's bloodied arms. Yet there was something in the orc's gaze, a raw determination that spoke of shared hatred, not for each other, but for their captors.

The orc broke the silence. "Human. Give me weapons. I'll fight by your side. We escape together."

The words were simple, but the weight behind them was undeniable. Robyn's gut told him to trust, and in moments like this, there was no time for contemplation. "Fine. Pick one off the dead guards. Tear down the other cells, arm the prisoners, and move fast. We've got little time, they're coming."

The orc's lip curled; without another word, he strode past Robyn, his massive hands scooping up a fallen axe from the bloodied ground. The weapon appeared almost comically small in his grip, but the way he wielded it left no doubt that it would be deadly against the incoming reinforcements.

The ensuing battle was a chaotic mess, to say the least. The guards charged in droves, his team and the liberated prisoners, who were in any shape of fighting, joining in. They tore down door after door, dragging out those who were too weak to stand up while arming those ready to raise arms against their jailors. Humans, elves, orcs, trolls, gnomes, dwarves, and even the dark iron ones united as one fought alongside the five adventurers for freedom. They all knew they would only have a chance if they set aside their differences and worked together, regardless of past grudges.

It was a strange sight to be sure, but one that changed something inside him. Maybe he was still clinging to old hatreds that weren't necessary. It was these old grievances that kept the horde and Alliance at odds, not any direct need for conflict, grievances that were hard to forget.

The sight of the man chained to the wall struck a nerve deep within Robyn. His armor, battered and pitted, bore the scars of countless battles, but the man's spirit was unbroken. His face, though brutalized, radiated a fierce resolve. This wasn't just a prisoner; this was a warrior who had refused to kneel to unspeakable despair. Without hesitation, Robyn drew his blade and cut the chains, the man falling and dropping on one knee. Despite his obvious injuries, he didn't look defeated, just momentarily bowed.

"On whose behalf are you here, adventurer?" the man asked.

"Lady Jaina hired us. There is no time. Come on!" Robyn relayed the most critical information and urged the man to follow.

The man's face lit up with hope, "Thank the light. Listen, I need to get back to Stormwind, warn the Lord Regent-"

Robyn interrupted the man, "We'll figure out that once we're out of here. If you are with the crown, Lady Jaina will help you."

"Noted," The man replied grimly. Without hesitation, he grabbed a gun from a dead Dark Iron dwarf, his hands moving with practiced ease.

Robyn could only hope that this was the man they were here to rescueThere wasn't time for second-guessing, not with the sound of marching boots growing louder. A full squad of Dark Iron dwarves- at least twenty dwarves, armed to the teeth- was closing in fast. Bullets ricocheted off the walls and Leroy's and Nisle's shields with sparks drowning the frantic whispers of the team.

"It's time, Nisle! Get us the hell out of here!" Robyn barked shielding an elderly human woman who stumbled as she tried to keep up.

Nisle darted ahead, his tiny frame nearly disappearing in the chaos. He pulled a rune from his pockets, and slammed it against the floor of a wider chamber. Mere seconds later a portal opened its glimmering surface, revealing a blurry image of the streets of Ironforge beyond.

"Everyone, through the portal!" Robyn ordered.

For a moment, there was hesitation among the freed prisoners. Orcs and trolls exchanged wary glances, clearly unsure whether they could trust the individuals from the Alliance. But the sound of the approaching dwarves and the memory of Dark Iron cruelty were more persuasive than any speech could be. One by one, they darted through the portal, their chains clinking faintly as they moved.

As Robyn predicted, they too ran through the portal as his team covered their retreat. He would be last to go through. He already had one leg pierced and Ethil had been hit in the left shoulder, making her unable to use her bow as she was the most targeted member of this team due to her skill with the ranged weapon.

Leroy's shield absorbed a barrage of bullets with a deafening clang, while Ethil hurled a dagger with her right hand with precision that dropped an advancing dwarf, as they disappeared through the portal. Robyn was the last to move. His leg was pierced by a lucky bullet, blood staining his armour, but he forced himself to limp towards the portal. Behind him, the Ironforge guards were closing in, and no doubt more reinforcements were coming. As he crossed the threshold, Nisle snapped the portal shut with a triumphant sigh of relief, cutting off the furious cries of their pursuers.

The cold air of Ironforge was a sharp contrast to the stifling heat of the Dark Iron caverns. Robyn staggered as he emerged, nearly collapsing from the pain in his leg. His blood faintly pooled on the cobblestones. A squad of Ironforge guards approached, their rifles on the ready. Their captain, a stout dwarf with a beard like braided steel wool, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing at the ragtag group.

"We rescued these people from the Blackrock depths! We will comply with your demands." Robyn spoke loudly and clearly, with a slight strain in his tone as he was losing more and more blood.

"Blackrock? You got these lads and lassies out of the clutches of the Dark Iron scum?" he asked, lowering his weapon.

"Yes! Please hurry, these people need help!" Leroy spoke up.

The captain gave a low whistle, clearly impressed, "I'll be damned! Very well. Lower your weapons, lads. Let's get these folks to the infirmary. What's your name, sonny?"

"Robyn, sir."

"Now then Robyn, I will deputize you to oversee these people. Follow me to the infirmary." The dwarf announced, his bulky figure already moving as his men made a perimeter around the group.

Now all that remained was to contact Lady Jaina and receive the just payment. What Ironforge Crown did with the orcs and trolls was out of his hands, but the Bronzebeards weren't known for treating their prisoners harshly.

Varian jolted upright, his breath uneven and his thoughts muddled. His heart was pounding as if he had just been running for miles. Sweat dampened his brow, and for a moment, the dream clung to him like a shadow. In it, he had been a wolf, muscles taut and ears pricked, the scent of prey thick in his nostrils. He could hear the underbrush crackling beneath his paws.

He tensed up as he gaze darted around the room, taking in the golden sunlight streaming through the windows, bathing the polished wooden floors in a soft glow. The furnishings were simple but dignified: a nightstand, a sturdy wardrobe, and a small writing desk in the corner. The air was tinged with the faint smell of salt, carried from the sea just beyond Theramore's walls.

'You are among your kind.' Goldrinn's reassuring voice echoed in his mind, its tone soothing but firm, like an old mentor urging calm.

'So I made it to Theramore.' He reasoned as he got out of bed. His memory was hazy. The last thing he clearly remembered was the city's towering gates framed by the setting sun before exhaustion had claimed him.

Varian swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the cool floor grounding him in the present. Catching his reflection in the mirror attached to the wardrobe, he winced slightly. A jagged scar ran the length of his face, starting near his temple and narrowly missing his eye. It was fresh, the skin pink against his pale complexion. His silk shirt and pants felt soft and finely made, which meant he was recognized and treated according to his standing.

He saw no reason to waste time now that he was awake and most of his strength had returned. With a deep breath, he stood, his joints protesting slightly as he moved towards the door and stepped out of the room. He nearly collided with a woman in a white woollen robe, who stumbled back, her eyes wide with surprise before she hastily bowed.

"Your majesty, it's good to see you have awakened! I will notify Lady Jaina at once," she said.

"Lead me to her," Varian replied curtly, his tone born of urgency rather than rudeness. There was little need for pleasantries and protocol, when there was work to be done.

The woman nodded and quickly turned, her footsteps light as she led him out of the infirmary. The walk took them outside briefly, where Theramore's towering walls loomed above. The city bustled with a flurry of activity.

Jaina's Tower came into view, its white stone walls gleaming in the sunlight. It stood proudly in the very center of the city, overlooking the domain of the Kul'Tiran royal turned leader of her own citystate.

Varian couldn't help but think of Jaina's resemblance to his late wife. The young sorceress always had been a sight for sore eyes, in some sense resembling his late wife Tifin, being a kind and compassionate person but not shying away from speaking her mind.

Inside, the air was cooler. The staircase spiraled upwards, its walls adorned with shelves holding books and magical artifacts. As they ascended, Varian could hear voices. The woman led him to the receiving hall at the top of the tower. The space was grand, with large windows allowing natural light to spill across a long table covered in maps and scrolls. Jaina stood at its head, her white and blue robes pristine, her hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders, her piercing eyes fixed on a map.

Beside her stood Aegwynn, her magical advisor. Her silver hair seemed to shimmer faintly, and her eyes held a sharpness that spoke of her brilliance.

But it was the third figure that gave Varian pause. Broad-shouldered and clad in travel-worn armor, his face was unmistakable. A flash of recognition and a surge of old camaraderie struck him like a lightning bolt.

"Windsor!?" Varian exclaimed.

Varian's sharp exclamation echoed through the hall, snapping Jaina and Aegwynn's conversation to an abrupt halt.

The broad-shouldered man turned, his face breaking into an expression of relief. He strode forward, "Your Majesty! You are awake, Thank the light!" without hesitation, Marshal Windsor swept Varian into a bear hug so fierce it could've crushed a lesser man.

To an outsider, Marshal Windsor's actions might have seemed highly inappropriate, especially from a soldier addressing their king. But Windsor wasn't just any soldier. He and Varian had trained side by side in their youth, their bond forged in the heat of sparring and tempered by the fires of war. If anyone had earned the right to hug the kind like a long-lost brother, it was this man.

"I'm not that easy to kill," Varian let out a gruff chuckle, as he patted the man's back with an affection that was as rare as it was genuine.

Varian finally released him, stepping back and clapping a hand on Windsor's shoulder, "I see Jaina wisely picked the man who will get me home in one piece."

Windsor smirked, though the weight of Varian's words wasn't lost on him. Stormwind had endured much in his absence, and his people needed him.

Jaina cleared her throat, drawing their attention, "About that-," her delicate features softened with a warm smile, though her eyes betrayed a simmering urgency as she motioned toward the table, "You better sit down. We have a matter to discuss."

Varian's caught the undercurrent in her tone. He nodded, the joviality from moments before replaced by the calculated calm of a ruler. He settled into the chair across from Jaina, Windsor taking the seat beside him. "Of course, what's this about?"

Windsor rested his hands on the table as he dropped the bomb, "Catrana Prestor has been an impostor all this time. Her real name is Onyxia, better known as the brood mother of the black dragons."

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.

Varian surged to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His blue eyes burned with fury, hands braced against the table, "We need to return immediately and slay the beast!"

Jaina raised a hand, her expression composed but firm, "Varian, please." she interjected, "We need a plan. An adult dragon is no mere beast- it's a force of nature. And Onyxia is ancient, cunning, and powerful. Rhonin is already mobilizing battlemages to assist. The Kirin Tor have a vested interest in resolving this matter."

Windsor nodded solemnly, his tone measured, "She's right, my king. Rushing in without proper preparation would be suicide. And there's more." He leaned forward, his expression darkening, "The black dragons and the orcs of the Burning Steppes are now ruled by two new entities. From what we can gather, these beings are on par with Archimonde himself."

The mention of Archimonde- a demon lord who had brought devastation to Azeroth- hit Varian like a punch to the gut. His teeth bared in a wolfish snarl, and for a moment, he looked every inch the wolf he had been in his dreams.

"I will slay that beast myself, no matter who guards her!" he growled, showing his teeth, his expression that of an enraged wolf raging at the loss of its pack.

"My king, I believe caution must be exercised; if our allies are willing to help, we should at least wait for the help to arrive before storming the castle," Windsor advised knowing that Varian would not just back down and was out for Onyxia's blood.

Jaina stepped forward, her eyes pleading, "Anduin is safely in the care of Lord Regent Bolvar and I gave him an artifact to teleport here should his life be endangered. Please trust me on this, Varian."

Her words brought a flicker of pain to his eyes, a reminder of Tiffin, whose memory still haunted him. Jaina's resemblance to Tiffin was both a blessing and a curse, a constant echo of what he had lost. The loss of his life was something he would never get over or forgive himself, Jaina being a painful reminder of his loss. Perhaps a curse of nobles' being relatives to some degree and at times having similarities in their appearances.

The mention of his son's safety brought a measure of calm to Varian. Finally, he exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing, "You are right," he admitted, his voice quieter. "Thank you for everything you have done. You have been a good friend and ally. How long would it take to assemble a strike force?".

Jaina inclined her head, a faint smile gracing her lips, "A few days at most. Rhonin is recalling all his most talented mages from expeditions. We'll have a force capable of taking her down."

"In that case, I will ask you one more thing. I will need a good weapon, armor and a place to train." His tone left no room for debate, and his expression was that of a man who would not rest until he was prepared to take back what had been stolen.

Jaina nodded, her eyes meeting his, "I will provide everything you need. The armory will be at your disposal."

"Excellent. Windsor," Varian said, his voice hardening as he turned to the marshal, "I will need a decent sparing partner. You still know how to hold a sword, don't you?"

Windsor laughed, clapping his king on the shoulder. "Oh, I might just teach you a thing or two, Your Majesty."

Varian scoffed, already heading for the door. "We'll see about that."

As the two men exited, behind them Jaina and Aegwynn exchanged amused glances. Although the road ahead was fraught with peril, they were ready for whatever lay ahead.

Editing by aidan_lo and NabeisWaifu.

Proofreading by fvvck, IAMTHEPLOKOKIOPO

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